


I shall be telling this with a sigh

by BillCiTheDemonGuy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Gen, Time Travel, mixed feelings about your new family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BillCiTheDemonGuy/pseuds/BillCiTheDemonGuy
Summary: Alex Lareau died in 2019. She woke up in 1990.And it gets worse.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. The One Where the Main Character Dies

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not tagging this as major character death, but the main character does die at the beginning. It's not permanent, but it is somewhat graphic.

The thing about reincarnation is that you’re not supposed to remember your past life.

* * *

Alex Lareau died of complications from pneumonia on March 29th, 2019. Her funeral will be held at LaMonte Funeral Home at 11am on April 4th, with a visitation starting at 9am. She is survived by her parents, Angela and Jeremiah, and her twin brother, Andrew.

She was 23.

* * *

The thing about remembering your past life is that it doesn’t work the way regular memories work. It doesn’t just sit in the background unobtrusively, ready to be called upon when needed. At least, not at first. Eventually, if the reincarnated person is lucky, it settles into the back of their mind and can be easily ignored. After all, unless you are a historian, there isn’t much use in remembering how you toiled in the fields as a 15th century peasant when you are currently living in the 21st century. 

But the first time you remember you had a past life, if it happens at all, is traumatic. It only happens when something triggers you into remembering how you previously died, and therefore only happens when in the previous life you died… messily. It has been described as being similar to a PTSD flashback, only worse in some cases, because PTSD occurs when you survive the event or events in question. When you very much did actually die from the event you are remembering, it is not uncommon for the body to shock itself into a coma, which often ends in death.

* * *

When Melissa Johnsen was ten years old, she fell through a frozen river while playing with her brother Michael. Michael tried unsuccessfully to rescue Melissa for several minutes before he ran for help, so Melissa was underwater for nearly 12 minutes before she was rescued and taken to the hospital. Doctors believe that the shock of the cold water made Melissa’s entire body and metabolism slow down, so she was able to survive the 12 minutes without oxygen. 

Michael was nearly inconsolable as he told their parents how Melissa had initially struggled, how she had fought to get back onto the ice as he ran toward her, how she dipped under the water a third time and then just stopped moving, frozen, sinking down before he could reach her, how he thought then that he was too late. Trying to reach her without falling in himself, trying to dampen the panic rising in his chest as she didn’t even try to reach for him, eyes open but not truly seeing his hand stretching through the water toward her. How he just (just!) barely wasn’t fast enough to grab her hair as she sank.

Melissa was in a coma for two days. When she woke up, Michael was sitting next to her hospital bed, reading. Her parents were farther back, closer to the door so they could step out into the hallway to discuss treatment without disturbing Michael. The doctors weren’t sure when she would wake, but believed she would go from coma to regular unconsciousness, not from coma to awake. Melissa sat up like she’d been shocked, looked at Michael, and said, “Andrew, I died.” She then collapsed back onto the pillow, unconscious.

* * *

The first thing Alex remembered was drowning.

Not drowning in the river, that came later. First was the surreal sensation of drowning while being perfectly dry, lungs protesting at the fluid in them while the brain tried to rationalize the liquid away. Propped up on pillows, mom holding her hand, coughing so hard she couldn’t inhale but unable to get the water out. She was aware of the encroaching darkness, and almost welcomed it, because it  _ hurt so badly _ to cough and cough and jostle the tube in her chest and nasal cannula that didn’t help anyway, and if she was unconscious she would at least not feel the sharp stab. A part of Alex understood that she wasn’t getting enough oxygen, and if she fell unconscious she probably wouldn’t wake up, so between hacking coughs she gently squeezed her mom’s hand and tried to smile as she dropped off, chest still convulsing.

The next thing Alex remembered was sitting up in the hospital bed. Her brother was next to her, reading. He looked smaller than before, hunched into the chair with worry. “Andrew,” she choked out, “I  _ died. _ ”

Andrew looked up in shock and confusion, but Alex didn’t pay too much attention; she was so tired, but she could  _ breathe _ , so she fell back against the pillow behind her and let herself drift off, comforted by the knowledge that she would wake up this time.

* * *

The next few days were mind numbingly slow for Michael, but an absolute whirlwind for Alex. Michael spent his time alternating between sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair and bumming around the house, waiting anxiously to ask Melissa why she’d called him Andrew. Alex spent her time either sleeping or awake but so exhausted she couldn’t move. When awake, she was sorting through her memories, trying to reconcile her ten years of memories as Alexandria with her ten years as Melissa. 

She’d decided early on that she wanted to continue going by Alex, and that she needed to tell  _ someone _ about her memories, but she wasn’t sure who. Habit demanded she tell her brother, who was always the first to know about important things, but her brother in this world was  _ so young _ . Yes, he was older than she currently was, but thirteen was nothing to the twenty-three she was used to. And her new (current) parents, Henry and Elizabeth. They were decent, but overall not as outwardly loving and supportive as her original parents were. Would they accept that their daughter wasn’t a ten-year-old any longer? That she had a whole life she remembered? Or would they try to institutionalize her for being ‘crazy’? Did they still institutionalize people?

That was another problem: it was 1990. And she was in Britain, but that was less important. Wrapping her head around the fact that she wouldn’t even be born for another six years was much harder than wrapping her head around the fact that she’d woken up in a different country.

* * *

Alex was discharged from the hospital by the beginning of March, and had in the meantime convinced Michael to call her Alex instead of Melissa. When he asked about being called Andrew, a quickly whispered promise to tell him later was enough to have him help defend her name decision to their parents, who agreed to call her Alex to her face, at least. 

As soon as they got home, Alex claimed she was going to take a nap, since she was still tired a lot of the time. Michael followed a few minutes after.

“Ok, it’s later now. Why did you call me Andrew, and why do you want to be Alex now?”

Alex laid on her bed. “You have to promise not to tell mom and dad. I’ll tell them at some point, probably, but you can’t go tell them.”

“Sure,” Michael nodded, sitting next to her on the quilt. He began tracing the flower pattern.

“Ok so,” Alex began, “When I was in the water, I breathed some in and it triggered a memory, and I got sort of… stuck I guess? I don’t remember what happened after that, how you got me out, because I was reliving the memory. And the next thing that happened was waking up in the hospital, and seeing you, and my gut went ‘brother,’ and for 20 years ‘brother’ meant ‘Andrew,’ so I just called you that.”

Michael clearly had questions, but held them in as she continued. “The memory I was reliving was of me dying. I remember an entire past life. My name was Alex and I had a brother named Andrew, we were twins, and our parents were teachers, and we had just graduated college, and I got pneumonia, and I’m pretty sure I died, and now I’m ten again, and I don’t know how I’m going to do this.”

Alex held back frustrated tears and picked at the blankets as Michael visibly gathered his thoughts. “So,” he eventually ventured. “You still remember being Melissa, right?”

“Yeah,” Alex said, “but that’s not even the - that’s not the weirdest thing. I’m telling you I remember a past life and the past life isn’t the weirdest thing.” She closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her palms into the sockets. “When I died, it was 2019.”

There was a sharp breath. “Like, the year 2019? Thirty years from now? Your past life was- is- in the future?”   


“Yep.”

Michael was silent for a moment. Then - “Fuck.”

“Yep.”

“Have we figured out how to teleport people by then?”

Alex huffed out a single laugh. “No, but we do have internet.” She sat up suddenly. “Fuck. Internet hasn’t been invented yet. A bunch of my favorite books and movies haven’t been made yet. I refuse to grow up without access to Youtube.” A pause. “I haven’t gone through puberty yet.” Alex flopped back onto her bed. “Jesus fuck, I have to go through puberty again. I have to re-grow my boobs. Shit.”

Michael said nothing, but he was bright red and pointedly looking away. 

“Oh, fuck, sorry. I’m used to telling Andrew everything, and-”   


Michael cut her off. “No, it’s fine, just don’t, please don’t talk about puberty things.” He took a deep breath. “So, sum up: You used to be another person, but you died thirty years in the future and now you’re here as my sister. The future has a lot of cool things that you’re going to miss.” He also flopped over next to Alex. “I miss anything?”

“Don’t think so. I’m going to have to tell mom and dad at some point, though. I don’t know how to even start that conversation.”

Michael stood up and patted her shoulder. “Good luck with that. I won’t say anything.”

Alex saluted.

* * *

March passed quickly. Alex still hadn’t told her parents what had happened, and was caught between feeling guilty for sort-of lying to them and feeling relieved that she hadn’t said anything. If she could last over a month, maybe she wouldn’t need to tell them at all? She wasn’t entirely comfortable calling them “mom and dad” even, referring to them as Henry and Liz to herself and occasionally, accidentally, to Michael. Michael, for his part, was closer to her than he had been before her accident, and most adults assumed it was because of said accident. Michael said he felt like he could talk to her about things now, because she wasn’t  _ really _ a little kid any more, it was almost like having an older sister.

Melissa’s birthday, and now Alex’s birthday, was at the end of March, the 29th, and privately Alex thought that was kinda morbid. She didn’t tell Michael; he was still only thirteen, he didn’t need to know the specifics of how, or exactly when, she died.

The morning of the 24th bloomed bright and cheerful, for England, which meant it was fifty degrees (ten, ten degrees Celsius) and only partly cloudy. Alex was eating her tasteless cereal and arguing with Michael about which Doctor was the best. She hadn’t seen much classic Who, so she maintained that the ninth doctor was the best, and  _ yes _ she knows there’s only eight doctors, but they’re gonna make more, I’m  _ sure of it _ (a wink at Michael) and the next one is going to be brilliant. A sharp rap at the front door startled her and she spilled milk on her shirt. Glaring at Michael, who laughed, she tried to soak it up with more shirt, which succeeded in spreading the wetness around so she was even more uncomfortable.

In the meantime, Liz had answered the door, and Alex could hear a woman ask if she could come in. Alex grabbed an actual napkin to clean herself, if they were having company, but the milk had already soaked in. She turned, and there was a tall woman, dressed very conservatively and looking almost disappointed at Alex’s milk shirt. Liz followed behind, shooting a grimace at her children. 

“Michael, Mel-Alex, this is professor McGonagall. She’s here to,” Liz looked over at McGonagall, “offer Alex a place at her school?”

Oh. Fuck.


	2. The One Where the Main Character Threatens an Adult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex visits Diagon Alley.
> 
> But first she freaks out. Quietly.

Alex sat through McGonagall’s explanation of witches and wizards, McGonagall’s display of magic as proof, and McGonagall’s deft fielding of the dozens of questions from her parents and brother. She didn’t say anything. Liz and Henry probably thought she was in shock, but Michael kept glancing at her, and she knew he’d noticed something was up. This was… something. Starting Hogwarts in 1990 would put her one year ahead of the golden trio, so all the Voldemort shit was going to go down while she was still underage. Not the best place to be, health-wise.

Also, the Harry Potter universe? Not movie-verse, since the McGonagall in front of her looked nothing like Dame Maggie Smith, but was it strictly book canon? What if this was one of the universes where Dumbledore was actively evil, or where the Malfoys really were nice and pureblood society was actually good (ugh)? And how much could she change it?

McGonagall offered to take the family to Diagon Alley to get Alex’s school things, and Alex agreed numbly before excusing herself to get a clean shirt. Michael, a bit too loudly, announced that he needed to use the loo, and followed.

“Okay, you look more upset about finding out you can do magic than finding out you died and time traveled. What’s up?”

“Turn around so I can change.” Michael did so. “This is a book series. McGonagall is a character in a book series I read, and it was made into movies, and a bunch of people wrote fanfic of it, and I don’t know what’s going to happen next but I know just enough to be nervous.” Alex tossed the milk shirt into the hamper. “You’re good. I’m worried that I won’t be able to change how the books end, I’m worried that something I do might change everything too much. Humans aren’t meant to know the future. God nerfed us for our own good.”

Michael looked rather like someone who had been told that his entire existence was simulated. “Right. Well, let’s go get you magic things and we can figure it out from there.”

They returned to the sitting room, Michael detouring to actually use the bathroom. Once the family was properly dressed for their excursion, McGonagall held out a plastic ring, like one would use for pool diving or ring toss. 

“This is a portkey, it’s one of the best ways to travel distances with a number of people. I need each of you to touch the ring.” Liz, Henry, and Michael all grabbed hold of the ring, while Alex placed a single finger on it. McGonagall tapped the ring with her wand, and a moment later the family was standing in an old pub, queasy. McGonagall put the ring back into her robe as Liz and Henry gagged and Michael and Alex merely took a few deep breaths. “Come along, then.” She led them through to the back of the pub to a brick wall, tapping a brick with her wand. The bricks shifted and melted into each other to form an arch, and McGonagall continued forward into the bustling street.

They went first to Gringotts, and Alex decided to test some theories. “Professor? What do goblins do, besides run the bank? Are they property managers or anything like that?”

McGonagall looked happy Alex was finally asking questions. “No. Not for wizards at least. Goblins as a general rule only interact with humans if they work in the bank. Most goblins live underground and keep to themselves.”

All right, check off goblins running all business and having access to magical family tracing. Good, honestly. The idea of tracing blood back centuries was kinda icky.

Henry exchanged pounds for Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts, and seemed put out by the idea of any money not being a multiple of ten.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Alex was careful to get a shoulder bag with an extension charm on it, to carry things to class, and as many books as she could find about wizarding culture and history. She wasn’t able to convince Liz and Henry to spring for the upper level textbooks, unfortunately. She also couldn’t convince either her parents or McGonagall that she should have a cat _and_ an owl, so she settled for a small tortoiseshell yearling that tried to chew her knuckle when she went to pet it. Once paid for, the cat laid on her shoulder like she was meant to be there and rumbled louder than a lawnmower. Alex named her Pakhet.

Finally, it was time to get a wand. McGonagall opted to wait outside Olivander’s shop, and Liz and Henry decided to keep her company (and ask questions they didn’t feel comfortable asking in front of their children), so Alex and Michael entered the shop, Michael tentatively and Alex nearly bouncing. Soon, she’d be able to do magic, something she’d dreamed of when she first read the books. She’d have to figure out how the Trace worked, and as soon as they got home she needed to have a long talk with Michael, but right now all she could focus on was -

The little tape measure, apparently, as it flew around her head measuring the dumbest things. Olivander himself appeared seconds later, and said something, but she was distracted by the tape measure trying to bend itself around her forehead and failing. Michael nudged her.

“Hmm?” Alex looked up at the wandmaker.

He smiled. It was kinda creepy. “You are older than you seem, I think. Perhaps…” He trailed off, shuffling boxes around, before he held out a wand. “Cherry and unicorn tail, twelve and a half inches.” 

Alex picked it up. Nothing happened. She waved it a bit. It was snatched away.

“No, no, something whippier perhaps.” Another wand was proffered. “Beech and dragon heartstring, ten and a quarter inches.”

This time Alex felt… something. It was close to having her funny bone hit, only much, much duller and not as painful. This wand, too, was snatched.

“Close, close, beech, not dragon heartstring.” Olivander held up a finger in a ‘one moment’ gesture, then ducked under the counter. There was quite a bit of shuffling and some muttering before he popped back up. “Here we go, beech and phoenix feather, eleven inches.”

Even before she touched the wand, Alex could feel something similar to static electricity pouring off it. As she picked it up, waves of tingles ran down her arms and back. 

“There we go,” said Olivander. “That will be seven galleons.”

Michael opened the door to call in the adults. Without taking her eyes off the wand, Alex addressed the adult wizards. “Can I get, like, a holster or something for this? It feels weird to just stick it in my pocket.”

“Most just charm it to stick in their sleeve,” McGonagall explained as Henry counted out seven galleons. “However, there are leather cuffs you can get to hold your wand, since you won’t know the sticking charm for a bit, and in case you wear short sleeves.”

“Where can I get one?”

Olivander grabbed a cuff from under his counter and handed it to Henry. “Another eleven sickles, please.”

Alex took the cuff from Henry and slipped it over her wrist, where it tightened to a comfortable size. She tapped her wand against the cuff, and it spun to situate itself along her forearm, shrinking to fit under her elbow. Then she made as if she were drawing the wand, and it spun again so she could grab the handle. Excellent.

McGonagall was saying she’d drop the Johnsens back off at their home and take her leave, and Alex still didn’t have answers she needed, so she wiggled in place a bit before upgrading to actual bouncing as they left Olivanders’ shop.

“I can’t wait to show you guys what I learn! I’ll come home for summer and be able to fix broken toys and summon lost jewelry. It’ll be so great!”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Children aren’t allowed to perform magic outside of Hogwarts until they come of age.” McGonagall looked truly sorry to correct Alex. “We don’t monitor for the few months between getting your wand and starting at Hogwarts, but after that you have a Trace put on you, so the Ministry can track if magic is done by a minor.”

_Trace mentioned, good,_ Alex thought, stopping in the street. “How does the Trace work? Is it some charm they apply every spring, that wears off when you go back to Hogwarts?” She moved to the side so traffic could continue around her.

“Technically,” McGonagall grimaced, “we track all instances of magic in the British Isles. Each wizard has a unique magical signature, which is recorded when you buy your wand. Wandmakers are required to submit the name, signature, and wand type of each customer to the Ministry, where, if the wizard is underage, an alert will be set up to go off any time that signature is registered.”

“So if a kid from a wizarding family used a relative’s wand before they bought their own, it wouldn’t be flagged?” Alex hoped she sounded like a ten year old.

“Unfortunately, yes.” McGonagall pursed her lips. “It is generally expected that parents will discipline any children in their care when it comes to using underage magic, and the reason we don’t start tracking until after first year is because accidental magic is much less common by then.”

Alex perked up a bit at that. “So is wandless magic unTraceable?”

“No, it is still Traced,” McGonagal narrowed her eyes. “Where have you seen wandless magic? I was under the impression that you performed very little accidental magic, and clearly your family had not heard of magic until today. Wandless magic is extremely difficult.”

_Shit._ “I saw a man in the bookshop summon a book just by waving his hand, he didn’t use a wand or say anything.” _That seems reasonable._

“Hmm.” McGonagall didn’t seem convinced, but she never used legilimency in the books, so Alex was pretty sure she was safe. “Does anyone have anything else that needs done before you return home?”

“Can I go ask Olivander about my wand? I didn’t think of it before, but there must be reasons to use different wood and cores, right?” _Please don’t come with please don’t come with._

“I believe we’ll wait outside,” Henry said, gesturing to Liz. McGonagal nodded that she would as well. “Don’t be long, we’ll be here.”

“Thanks dad.” Alex ran back to the shop. It wasn’t far away, and hopefully nobody else had entered since they left. 

“Mr. Olivander,” she called, entering the shop. “I need to ask for a favor.”

“Indeed?” Olivander appeared from nowhere, again. He must use a disillusionment charm to freak out young customers. “What could you possibly need from me?”

Alex straightened up and looked him dead in the eyes. “I need you to not submit my name and magical signature to the ministry. I have important work to do and the Trace would hinder my plans.”

Olivander raised his eyebrows. “Oh? And what makes you different from all the other students with important plans, young lady?”

“I’ve seen the future and I need to fix it.” Alex didn’t blink. “If you know legilimency, use it. I’m not lying, and I don’t know occlumency yet. I need to change what will happen, or Vol - ugh - You-Know-Who will return.”

Olivander had gone even more white when Alex almost said Voldemort. “You claim to be a seer? With vision so clear you can manipulate what you See?”

_Well._ “Of a sort. I have Seen, and I don’t know exactly how my actions will change the future, but I know it _must be changed_.” Alex tried staring harder. She needed this to work.

Finally, Olivander nodded. “I’ll not send the report, but first, tell me something. Something that will happen that I cannot mistake as coincidence.”

“You have a wand, holly and phoenix feather, brother to Vo- You-Know-Who’s wand.” Alex couldn’t remember the length, but that wasn’t as important. “The Boy-Who-Lived will show up next year, end of July. That is the wand that will choose him.”

Olivander had frozen as soon as she mentioned holly and phoenix feather, yet seemed to grow even stiller as she continued. When she finished, he let out a hoarse whisper. “That is… extremely specific. I will do as you ask.”

Alex nodded, and left the store, weaving swiftly through the crowd to her waiting family and professor. “Ok, we can go now.”

“What did you learn about your wand, darling?”

_Fuck._ “Nothing, he rambled about the wand choosing the wizard and the importance of balancing the cores, but he didn’t actually _say_ anything.”

McGonagall rolled her eyes, as if she had fully expected that to happen, then pulled out the pool ring again. “Alright, let’s be off. It’s been quite a day for you all.”


End file.
